


Stress Dreams

by sorcererinslytherin



Series: Ashes and Embers: Days in the Lives of the FAHC [4]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Insomnia, M/M, and that's okay, sometimes you need a little help, soul searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 11:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17446388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorcererinslytherin/pseuds/sorcererinslytherin
Summary: Ryan finds it hard to sleep - the demons lurk behind every corner. Thankfully, he's not the only one with burdens, and things are a little lighter when shared with others. Geoff/Ryan, background ot6.Part of my crosspost from tumblr. Read more in my Ashes and Embers series.





	Stress Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I'm cross-posting my favorite fics from tumblr over here to AO3. They will all be posted individually but collected in a series titled "Ashes and Embers." Please feel free to check out all of them and give me a follow over on tumblr if you like them!

It was late. Or early - Ryan had ceased being able to tell. His hands were trembling on their own accord. That was never good, but he had long since learned that there was nothing he could do about the trembling. It would always spring on him late at night, far past the time that everyone else went to bed, and would grab him and shake him and wouldn’t let go until he was exhausted and his whole body fell asleep whether he wanted to or not.

Stress, Caleb had told him. He hadn’t wanted to go to the doctor of the crew, but when the insomnia got bad enough to keep him awake for three days in a row, he had finally succumbed and called the man. He used a burner phone and kept it short. Caleb had told him not to be ashamed, it was normal, but _normal_ wasn’t allowed. Not in a job like this one. He had to be more than normal, had to be superhuman. He was a man that bathed in the the blood of others, after all. 

He had a reputation to uphold. 

But reputations were hard. In the end, he was a man before anything else - a man who bled, who cried, who hurt. A man who, after taking a gunshot to the shoulder and a baseball bat to the chest, was rather put out with this whole nightmare of a life. It was nights like these, ribs bound and hands shaking, when he considered leaving this town, leaving the shell of the Vagabond discarded on the street like a snakeskin, and just taking off. 

The breathing of the others around him always stopped him. Even if he no longer reveled in the fight like they did, even if he felt jaded about the heists and the fights and the violence, he cared about them. He needed to be there to protect them. His heart belonged to them even when the rest of his body cried out to run, to flee, to protect himself like he always had. 

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. This was his life now. 

That didn’t stop his hands from shaking, from the anxious fear of death creeping down his spine and pulsing with the pain of the gunshot wound in his shoulder. It hadn’t been close to killing him - rarely people got close anymore, he’d been doing this too long - but it did catch him unawares and it hurt like fucking hell. He had avoided painkillers - the last thing he needed was to turn anxious insomnia into a dream-riddled fake slumber that he couldn’t escape from. God knows what that would be like. He wasn’t eager to try.

Detaching himself from the lump of sleeping Fakes wasn’t hard - he had taken the edge of their bed for a reason. The insomnia had been bad even before the gunshot and the broken ribs. He knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight and he was right. 

Jamming his hands into the pockets of the oversized sweatshirt he wore to bed - half for the warmth and half to stop the pitying looks of the others when he wandered around in just bandages - he headed towards the kitchen. His hands still shook even though they were balled into fists. It was enough to make him slightly ill and he tried to shove the anxious thoughts away from himself. The Vagabond didn’t give in. Wouldn’t allow himself to see the faces of the men he’d killed and wonder about how close he had gotten himself.

_But Ryan did._

He didn’t make it to the kitchen. Distantly, he wondered what he was even going for. Water? A cup of soothing tea? Gavin swore by chamomile. Maybe he was going to give up a life’s worth of conviction that alcohol just made things worse and was finally going to drown the rampaging thoughts in the sweet burn of Geoff’s favorite whiskey. Who knows. Whatever the plan was, he didn’t make it.

He collapsed onto the couch in the kitchen, the first strangled sobs catching in his throat. They weren’t sobs of depression but rather frustration and fear - his hands were shaking so badly now he couldn’t stop it even with clenching his fists. Fuck. He knew what panicked breakdowns were, knew that Caleb had said one was coming. He shoved his fist into his mouth and bit down hard, trying to stop himself from making noise and waking up anyone else, riding the shivers as they transferred from his hands to his whole body.

He felt close to vomiting, body rebelling against his frustration. It was too much. This was a nameless worry, a fear he couldn’t describe. Anxiety didn’t need to have a reason, he was told. It just came and went and left the person it dwelled in to suffer the consequences of an overactive mind. His mind - frayed from pain and sleep deprivation - was certainly strained already. 

Time seemed to stretch as he sat on the couch, tears streaking his face as he tried to work through the breakdown that was making every breath a rasp and body shaking viciously with tremors that almost resembled smell seizures. He was just getting himself back under control, taking deep focused breaths that killed his ribs but jolted him back to reality, when he heard soft footsteps.

Fuck. He didn’t want to deal with anyone, didn’t want their pity, he was supposed to be strong…

“Ryan.” The voice was rough and gravelly from sleep, but he’d know it anywhere. Geoff. That was surprising, honestly - he would have thought Gavin, or maybe Michael. Someone who he could snap at and get to go away. But Geoff was made of stronger stuff and his boss on top of his lover - he couldn’t just rage and demand the man left him alone.

Geoff sat down next to him. Ryan could feel his gaze scraping along his body. It was telling, even if he wouldn’t vocalize it. The shudders that still ran down his spine. The way he was holding himself in a ball. The tears on his face. The exhaustion writ on every feature.

“….I turned to booze when it got bad,” Geoff said quietly. “It tended to quiet the mind, even if it activated other things. But that was a bad idea and I won’t recommend it.”

Ryan turned to him, looking at the man closely for the first time since he sat down. Geoff’s expression was sad - not pity, but understanding. “I don’t imagine this is your first time, right? You’ve been doing this too long.”

His hitman licked his lips. “No,” Ryan replied gruffly after a second. “Although it rarely gets this bad.”

“You should get Caleb to prescribe you some anti-anxiety medicine,” Geoff said gently. “I know you’re against it, but it does help.” Geoff moved closer, gently, as if afraid he’d spook him. “But that’s for tomorrow.”

Ryan’s teeth grit. “I don’t want your pity,” he spit, but his normal force behind the anger wasn’t there. His voice was hollow. 

Geoff sighs. “I know.” His hand fell on Ryan’s thigh and squeezed it. “I’ll just stay with you. You’re not alone, Haywood. Not anymore. I care for my dogs. All of you.”

A hand crept out and took Geoff’s - Ryan seemed almost surprised as Geoff did. He squeezed it and Geoff could feel the tremor. The Kingpin just squeezed back, taking the trembling into his own body. Helping support the other.

“I didn’t realize I was working you to the point of breakdown,” he said and there was a bit of guilt in his tone. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not -” Ryan sighs. “It’s me. I’m - ”

“Tired,” Geoff finished softly. “We need a break. This is the fourth big heist we’ve done this week. I’ve had you running and collecting and breaking heads every day. This is a big empire, but I’ve ran it at the expense of my crew and my loves.” Geoff let out another, exhausted sigh. “We’re going to take a break.”

Ryan huffs. “I don’t know if a break will help.”

Geoff squeezed his hand. “It’s a break or retirement. You gonna flee on us?”

For a moment, Ryan pauses. He doesn’t want to admit the dark thoughts that dwelled deep inside. But Geoff seems to sense it. “We’d miss you. If you left.”

“I’m not leaving.” Ryan’s voice was firm now, not shaking. He swallows, conviction pushing past the unadulterated panic. A small, tenuous smile appears on his face. “Who would keep Gavin or Michael from blowing themselves up if I left?”

Geoff smiles back, big and bright. “That’s my boy,” he hums a bit. He leans over and presses a soft, quick kiss on Ryan’s forehead. 

Ryan glances up at him. “…thank you. I didn’t- well. I didn’t think you could help.”

“Like I said,” Geoff replies, speaking more to the dark of the room than to the hunched figure next to him. “I’ve dealt with this more than my share of times. I think we all have. Doubt, regret, fear… it comes with the territory. But we’re a team. A crew. We’re here for the good days… and the bad ones too.”

Ryan sighs and moves a bit, favoring his ribs and his shoulder until he was sleepily leaning up against Geoff. The Kingpin just stroked through his greasy hair. “Fuck, Rye,” he said gently. “You need a fuckin’ shower.”

Ryan laughs weakly. Either the insomnia is fading with the anxiety or his body was giving out. Maybe a bit of both. Realizing he’s trapped under his exhausted hitman, Geoff just moves so they’re both cozy on the couch. “Sleep,” he whispers. 

….and Ryan, finally, does.


End file.
